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Full text of "A little book of poetry for children"

A LITTLE 

«ft BOOK OF POETRY 

FOR CHILDREN. 









PITTSFIELD, MASS. 

E. WERDEN. 

1847. 



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asi^t^ , 



A LITTLE 



BOOK OF POETRY, 

FOR CHILDREN. 



The only trap we wish to, see 

Is one to catch the mind, 
Knowledge the tempting bait should 
be, 

And all a bit should find. 



PITTSFIELD, MASS ! 

PUBLISHED BY E. WERDEN. 

1847. 




The cock who soundly sleeps at night* 
Rises with the morning light, 
Very loud and shrill he crows, 
Then the sleeping plowman know0> 
He must leave his bed also, 
To his morning work to go. 
And the little lark does fly s 
To the middle of the sky* 








The Owl. 

When the sun is in the west, 
The owl leaves his darksome aest ; 
Wide he opens his staring eyes, 
And screams as round and round he 

flieg ; 
For he kates the cheerful light, 
He sleeps by day, and wakes at sight, 
But I will lay my little head f 
Down upon my pleasant bed. 




•^v 



Riddle. 



My head is white, 

My body isli^ht, 
With cords I am faced around 

I am beaten with sticks, 

But not for bad tricks, 
But to animate by my sound. 




Jenny good spinner, 
Come down to your dinner, 

And taste tne leg of a frog. 
Then all you good people, 
Look over the steeple, 

And see the cat play with the dog, 





The 



Fish. 



D* ar mother said a little 

Pray is not that a fly, 
Vm very hungry, and I wish 

You'd let me go and try. 

Sweet Innocent the mother criedj 
And startled from her nook, 

That horrid fly is put to hide 
The iharpneis of the hook. 







L 




The Kite. 



No head, nor eyes, nor wings have I, 
And yet I mount up far on hi gh ; 
A tail I have, my flight to guide, 
Which is my beauty, boast and pride, 
A prisoner keep me ; for if free, 
Pm rarely seen again by thee ; 
And if I were, my tattered state, 
For rae your value would abate. 



8 




Riddle* 



I fly to many foreign parts, 

Assisted by my spreading wings ; 

My body holds a hundred hearts- 
Nay,! will tell you stranger things. 

When I am not in haste, I ride, 
And then I mend my pace anon ; 

Fire oft issues trom my side — 
Y* yankee youths, this addle con. 



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